Pirouette [h.s.]

chapter 18

Monday has always been the worst day of the week, the beginning of an endless cycle. But ever since that day at the bridge, Mondays dig a little deeper - the first of a series of cloudy days until the sunshine breaks through the cover on Friday night.

Before Harry had left yesterday, after laying, a little dazed and worn out at each other's sides, he wrapped his hands around my waist, hauling my body into him, "Friday is too far, Bee. I just wanna see you all the tiiiime."

Stretching my neck up to give him a kiss, I nodded, "I know. Come back after you get 'im up?" I suggested, knowing full well that Harry and his mother were going out to lunch.

Fingertips painted little pictures into my skin, "And abandon the woman who birthed me? Phoebe Iris, I cannot believe you would try to take me away from my mother, the woman who loves me the most in the whole wide world."

I rolled my eyes, jumping further into his chest as he pinched my sides between his fingers.

"Relax and get yourself recharged for the week, m'kay? Some peace and quiet without me here to bug you. Busy Bee needs some R&R. Peaceful Bee. Zen Bee. How's that sound?"

"Boring." I muttered, rolling my eyes again and letting out a shriek as Harry pulled me on top of him, tickling me until I tapped out against his chest.

"I'll give you somethin' to roll your eyes about, pretty baby, if you don't stop that." he growled out, unleashing a hoard of butterflies swarming in my stomach.

I saluted my fingers with a goofy smile, pulling the comforter up to cover my body as he rolled out of my bed.

Opening up to Harry was one of the hardest things I've done - harder than dance, harder than working two jobs, harder than leaving Tacoma. Opening up to Harry was one of the most vulnerable things I've done. But, the minute the gates were open, the flood poured through; like it was all waiting for the tipping point to come rushing out.

If I think too hard about how much he knows, how much power he has over me, it starts to cloud over my head, daunting and scary. But, for the most part, I can't stop myself from telling him more; little pieces of myself that seem trivial, or heavy craters of struggle. I can see the appreciation stamped across Harry's face every time I hand over those breadcrumbs, big or small, important or mindless. As if it's some kind of precious gemstone.

The switch of the song turns off the thoughts about Harry playing through my mind. Battu was starting to buzz again with the holiday show coming up next weekend - the Saturday following Thanksgiving. I was more nervous for this show than I was before, considering I was performing my own choreography.

Lacey had come bounding into my studio a few weeks ago, excitedly telling me that Claudette was allowing us to perform our own pieces for the holiday show, if we so desired. Either that, or perform the same choreographies we danced at the fall opener. And that was not going to happen.

Apparently, as the temperature dropped, Claudette had a hard time getting to the studio, which also meant that Lacey was the one who was completing my weekly check-ins. I definitely wasn't going to complain - less cheese grater and more of Lacey. A win-win, in my book.

"Oh, Phoebeee!" her singsong voice precedes the knock against my door, the slight creak of the hinges announcing her arrival.

A gentle warmth burns in my chest; content and peaceful. The feeling of familiarity. Of friendship. I greet her as she walks across the room. "What's going on, it's only Monday?"

"Just thought I'd drop by and say hey. How's practice going?" she asks, leaning her shoulders back against the wall.

I flatten the flyaways from my bun, patting them down against my head, "It's fine. I'm just tweaking that one part of the dance."